When men feel stress, they process.

When women feel stress, they talk.

Generally speaking, women feel uncomfortable with the men’s process because it happens in silence.

For a man to talk when he’s stressed only increases his stress.

I’ll just leave this here and go away for a while and write…

Talk among yourselves

OR

Process by yourself.

I was rolling in the darkness.

The winter turns to spring.

Not much more than plenty.

I guess I didn’t need a thing.

I see her growth in real time.

Sometimes, I witness all.

Take it in and keep in stride.

And just pray I don’t appall.

The light is on horizon.

I am almost out of bed.

There are reasons to be hopeful.

For less reasons than you said…

Breathing fumes down at the gas plant.

He smiled, “You can graduate to shift.”

I paused and said, “No, I just can’t.”

Then, down that road, I drift.

There is something in not knowing.

That beats the pain of 2 small pairs.

Seems I’m coming now or going.

There’s no one left who cares.

The bright lights they sure is pretty.

In the night they show there’s more.

Another train, a plane, new city.

In the distance, is why what for.

I don’t need your Shaman Healers.

Just some meaning to the light

Left the table and all the dealers.

Choose the day and sleep the night.

We dined on tea and oranges.

On the sand down by the sea.

There were possible storm warnings.

That escaped both you and me.

The dingy left the harbor.

The sail snapped by noon.

The winds grew dark and heavy.

Under far too soon, typhoon.

They’ll be no more tea and oranges.

Or walks down at the park.

The dreamers dream is heavy now.

And faint hopes are growing dark.

Taserface is lonely, but she won’t stay there for long.

She is licking purring violently, finding comfort in her song.

There are moments of depression that are falling from the fight.

I am mixing up the atmosphere and am feeling less contrite.

There are forces in the heavens tempting fates just in my head.

Taserface gets left behind, and the guilt is colored red.

We are packing in the evening, and trucks arrive at dawn.

Taserface is not in charge, and in the morning, we’ll all be gone.

Taserface was sleeping in the bedroom on a quilt.

Free from all her suffering and all the pains of shame and guilt.

Her fur was soft and matted from the garden and the birds.

And the shit and dust and blood and mud and things that don’t have words.

Taserface is sleeping, and she twitches like a cat.

We feed and need her lust for greed, but that’s not where it’s at.

In the darkness, she will awaken, and once more, she will roam.

We are moving, and poor Taserface is searching elsewhere for a home.

The voices they were moving.

On the water and in the air.

In her head was far from soothing.

And your name was everywhere.

She was holding onto sanity.

By a needle and a thread.

Her thoughts? Not worth a mention.

Except some mumbled words were said.

Something  happened somewhere.

Was a child, and then she grew.

Lived in the pain of “that’s not fair.”

Then she set her eyes on you.

In the gravity of her attention.

You were savior on white horse.

For her, not worth a mention.

You just failed… of course. Of course.

All those tears, ‘not worth a mention.’

Because you know she has to cry.

Now that I have your full attention…

You can stay or wave bye-bye.

We dined on tea and oranges.

On the sand down by the sea.

There were possible storm warnings.

That escaped both you and me.

The dingy left the harbor.

The sail snapped by noon.

The winds grew dark and heavy.

Under far too soon, typhoon.

They’ll be no more tea and oranges.

Or walks down at the park.

The dreamers dream is heavy now.

And faint hopes are growing dark.